


Foie gras

by fatal_drum



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Choking, Episode: s02e01 Kaiseki, Hannibal POV, I'm going to the special hell, M/M, Medical Kink, Nonconsensual Touching, Somnophilia, that alone is a bad sign
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 22:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8914828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/pseuds/fatal_drum
Summary: A stolen moment, a meditation on consumption and being consumed; an extended take of the scene Will remembers in Kaiseki.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this. I also don't even know what to warn about, aside from Hannibal being about as fucked up as he is in canon. It's more than a bit Not Good. Seriously, turn back now while you still can.

Will slumped in his chair, blue eyes hazy with fever. Sweat dripped from his pale brow and down his neck to disappear into his collar. His lips were parted softly as he panted in a desperate effort to expel the heat. The sharp, sweet scent of inflammation filled the air.

Hannibal tilted the man's head back to expose the white angle of his Adam's apple, easily palpable beneath the tender skin. The man sat, as quiet and trusting as a child in his stupor, as helpless as a surgical patient waiting for him to make the first cut. When he was awake he guarded himself, avoiding scrutiny as much as possible. Now Hannibal was free to drink his fill. To savor the angle of his cheekbones, the dusting of stubble across his jaw, with all its gradations from brown to blond and ginger. To run his thumb down the tracheal cartilage and let it graze his sharp collar bones.

It wasn't enough, to feel his heat muted through barriers. Lifting a gloved hand to his mouth, he caught the latex between his teeth and pulled.

Will's hair was incredibly soft under the sheen of sweat and oil. Grooming had taken less and less precedence as his disease progressed. He wondered what it would feel like freshly washed and combed. Like silk, he imagined. Or rabbit fur.

Mongoose.

He withdrew his hand to taste the salt and sweetness, thrilling in the contrast between expectation and reality. The man tasted much as he smelled, which was a comfort – masculine, overlaid with febrile sweetness and cheap aftershave - but there were notes of musk he had scarcely detected before.

Will moaned quietly.

“Shhhh,” Hannibal whispered, running a soothing hand down his cheek. “You're safe.”

He trailed down to Will's mouth, testing the firm pink surface with his thumb. It gave way to his touch, letting him explore the hot damp space between his lips and teeth. Will's mouth tensed, almost like sucking. Despite the warmth, Hannibal felt a shiver pass over his skin.

His other hand slid to cup the back of Will's head, gripping the dark curls between his fingers. This time he slid two fingers between his slack lips and gently pried his jaw open. The heat was greater here, nearly burning, inside of Will and so close to his thoughts. He stroked the damp muscle of his tongue, the silky skin inside his cheeks, and something flickered in Will's eyes.

He pulled back slightly, only to add a third finger, making Will's lips bulge obscenely around his flesh. Saliva gleamed at the corners of his mouth.

Hannibal shut his eyes against the image and thrust in deep.

Will gagged softly, the muscles of his throat contracting around Hannibal's fingertips. He could feel saliva leaking past his knuckles and onto Will's chin.

Had Will ever taken someone so far inside himself? He found himself imagining Will awake, lucid, eager to lick and suck rather than moaning and struggling weakly. He tightened the grip on his hair but pulled back to allow him to him pant around his hand. His breath was hot on Hannibal's skin.

Scraping over the incisors, he imagined himself even deeper inside his friend. Stroking the walls of his esophagus, down into the acid of his pylorus. At the very least, Hannibal was shedding skin. The digestive enzymes in Will's mouth were already eating away at some small part of him. Doubtlessly some of his cells would make it down Will's throat to nourish him.

Unable to stop himself, he shoved his fingers in to the hilt, then out, and back in again. Will gagged harder, and the sound slid over Hannibal's body like a caress, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as Will swallowed around him.

“Good boy,” he murmured, feeling the flicker of Will's tongue against his palm.

He forced his breathing to calm. Enough play; it was time to return to practical matters. He gently removed his hand from Will's mouth. The man groaned softly at the loss, and Hannibal patted his cheek with his damp fingers.

Sliding the glove back on, he reached for the tube, holding it parallel to Will's body as he measured. He needed adequate depth to ensure his gift reached its destination, but no further, lest he puncture the digestive tract. Satisfied, he marked the length with a permanent marker and applied sterile lubricant to the tip. He had considered at length what part of Abigail would enter his friend. Something small, but easily recognizable. Soft enough not to risk injury when he vomited afterwards.

Nothing would injure Will tonight. That was not his design.

In a way, he envied Abigail for the journey her sweet flesh was about to make. But it was folly for a man to envy his child, his dear girl, who deserved at least this much. Perhaps someday he would join her. He considered Will's hand wrapped around a fork, spearing a braised chunk of his pectoral muscle, redolent with wine sauce and cloves of roasted garlic. He imagined passing the soft lips, being ground between his teeth as Will chewed slowly, so as to savor every bite, before washing him down with a glass of cabernet sauvignon. He wondered how he could contrive for this to happen, as he'd contrived to feed Will the fruits of his labors.

Or perhaps Will could become a meal himself one day. Hannibal could not see himself wasting such a mind, but if there were no choice – an accident, perhaps – he imagined his friend's flesh would be as tender as roasted veal, with a flavor all his own. His mouth watered, and he found himself bending to inhale the scent below Will's jaw, a mixture of musk and honey.

Slowly, he lapped a salty drop of sweat from his skin, feeling Will shiver under his tongue. The scent and taste were stronger here, and he closed his eyes for a moment, committing them to memory before pulling back.

Stroking Will's cheek, he opened the man's mouth and introduced the tube into his esophagus. Will gagged again, struggling against the hard plastic, but Hannibal was both gentle and implacable. He pushed slowly enough to avoid tearing the fragile mucosa while making inexorable progress.

“Shhhh, shhhh,” he soothed as tears pooled in the corners of Will's eyes. Reflex. The sight made something tender uncurl itself in Hannibal's chest.

Finally the tube passed into the distal esophagus, deep enough for Hannibal to deposit his gift. Once he was content that it was secure inside his friend, he withdrew, and the gagging ceased.

Will coughed hard. “H– Han -” he choked out, then slumped forward again, eyes blank as a doll's.

His friend had been through so much today.

He would go through so much more tomorrow.

Hannibal lifted the man out of the chair only to take the seat for himself, cradling him in his lap. Soft curls brushed Hannibal's chin, releasing his scent. Will's hip brushed against his groin, and he realized distantly that he was erect. Unimportant. Ignoring the sensation, he focused instead on his friend's breathing, on the sticky saliva leaking from his mouth against Hannibal's neck, on the warm and reassuring weight in his lap. He wondered if this was why Will liked having dogs. It was a feeling to which he could grow accustomed.

Will whimpered.

“It's alright,” Hannibal whispered again, holding his friend tight for just one more moment. “You're safe here.”


End file.
